Theory of Peppermint
by SweetyKinz
Summary: Alex had always thought that Mrs. Jones preferred sweeter breath when sending men off to their deaths, and he certainly hadn't expected peppermints to be the very thing to pull him away from the welcoming abyss. (Short one-shot)


_"As Head of Special Operations, how many men had she sent to their deaths? Ian Rider and maybe dozens more. Perhaps it was easier for her if her breath was more sweet."_

 _~Alex Rider~_

* * *

Alex Rider had a theory.

Mrs. Jones had a rather peculiar, insatiable appetite for a delectable, minty candy called peppermint. The Deputy Director of MI6 would never fail on the habit, briefing operatives and sending them on rather suicidal missions with the sharp sting of mint on her tongue.

Some of those men never came back, and the teenage superspy liked to think that perhaps it was easier for the woman to send agents to their deaths if her breath was more sweet.

He would never know the truth, after all, but a single, solid fact would stay with Alex until the end of time as a result: he really hated peppermints.

It was with this sickly sweet smell that parting words were uttered, and Alex was assigned onto a suicide mission.

Of course, it wouldn't be a first for the fifteen-year-old. Nothing to be afraid of. The legendary agent was always expected back, right into the clawing hands of the SIS where he would continue on the Rider legacy. The blonde did, after all, have the luck of the devil on his side.

 _Perhaps it was time that his luck ran out._

Weeks later, an empty torture chamber belonging to the criminal organization, Scorpia, would be filled, the bright, crimson blood of a certain teenage spy splattered against its walls.

 _Scorpia never forgives. Scorpia never forgets._

Scorpia's defining motto, splayed out crudely in the young child's own blood; spread against the stained white brick wall, and dripping the thick, rustic fluid in jagged streams. Streams that would fall softly and quietly into the rapidly growing pool of red that surrounded the fragile, curled figure of Alex Rider.

Poor, almost unrecognizable Alex, who's pulse beat ever-so-slowly underneath the scarred skin of a bullet wound that pierced through by the very people who lay him to rot, nerves tingling amongst his vast numbness and fading gently with every slow, shallow breath he took.

His chocolate brown eyes were open to the world, the pain clearly displayed beneath the depths that used to hold such a fierce and harshly cold glint, but was now withered away into a glassy, bloodshot nothingness. Just as the nothingness that danced in his head and caused blackness to swim in his vision, eyelids forcefully growing heavier and heavier with every passing, agonized moment.

He could feel his own heart slowing in his chest, and he just felt _so very tired._

The tendrils of death were a welcoming embrace, numbing away the pain and holding him in a gentle caress that gave the promise of peace. Soft and caring hands, yet still firm, cold and strong, grabbed a hold of the spy and very very slowly started to pull him under, into the abyss of calm and quiet.

The eyes that fluttered shut took no notice of a door being broken down forcefully, and numb ears only listened to ringing silence, not commanding shouts and explosive, popping sounds of gunfire. He didn't register feeling as his limp, broken and bloodied body was cradled into gentle hands, his name being questioned in an almost worried, but urgent manner.

What he did happen to register, however, was the overpowering, sharp scent of peppermint, curling into his stomach with an aching pang of familiarity.

He would know the scent anywhere.

And so he grabbed onto it, numb and fogged mind slowly being lifted out of a dizzying state as he clasped with all of his strength, breaking free of the dark abyss that surrounded him. A sharp, desperate and hoarse gasp escaped his lips, lungs filling with precious air while his eyes slowly opened, shadowed shapes above him taking on more humanoid features with every rapid blink he took.

As his eyes took a new clarity on the situation, his senses awakened with renewed vigor, and he could feel every damn burn, laceration, and mark made on his aching torso. His breathing grew heavy and erratic, a sharp contrast to before, and Alex could now make out quiet, gentle voices.

"-mnit, Cub- hear- ambulance- stay with us-"

He faintly noticed the slightly paler, but otherwise expressionless face of Mrs. Jones stepping away, allowing a male to step up and provide what little first aid the medic could apply to the fifteen-year-old. No more than five minutes could have passed before he drifted back into unconsciousness, pulse weak and erratic, but stronger than the soft thumping he had previously been victim to.

Alex Rider would live to see another day.

* * *

 **So yeah, this is a weird little drabble that kind of stuck with me for so** **me reason~ I don't know where it ca** **me fro** **m at all, but enjoy, either way~? It's also probably good that I break into the AR fando** **m with so** **mething short and sweet (Geddit, sweet? Like the... Like the pepper** **mints! :D) I wasn't sure how to end it, but I think I did okay cx**


End file.
